I've looked into a lot of broken mirrors in my time. And they've brought me nothing but good luck.

I rather like women with faces which look like they've had a small stroke. Like Drew Barrymore, or Tracey Emin. Dear Tracey is, I think, rather sweet and a little misunderstood. And if she could learn to draw - my goodness, what a master she could be.

You know the skin is the largest organ of your body. I think as a woman to ignore an organ so big would be almost a heresy.

I used to adore my Fisherman's Facials. But there are enzymes made by Estée Lauder nowadays which mean women no longer need to tape sardines to their faces at night.

I dyed my hair brown for many years as a younger woman, because I felt ashamed of my natural mauve colouring. Can you believe that?

A strong but simple impulse revealed itself when I had a career in England but a family suffering back in Australia. My aged mother was going berserk, my daughter had been arrested with a frozen chicken concealed in her gusset and my husband had experienced another spectacular urilogical episode. And so I made a very important decision - to put my family last.

I've never been happier since my husband passed away. I think most women, if they were honest, would say the same thing.

There's been a lot of dumbing down lately, so I'm doing a bit of Dameing-up.

I was organising a huge prostate rally in Hyde Park. Unfortunately it had to be cancelled because of the exorbitant cost of additional toilet facilities.

I'm very aloof from politics. I have to be, in my position. If I took up a stance then millions would follow me like lemmings.

If you go on the all-cake diet, very soon the very thought of conventional food makes you feel sick. And as you know, throwing up is Dame Nature's way of staying thin.

Few people remember where they live. When I'm onstage leaning over someone, like a cobra leaning over a mongoose, and ask what sort of a bedroom they have, they can't recall. Perhaps the world is mythical, a dream from which one day we'll awake.

Our old home in Moonee Ponds, where Norm's prostate machine throbbed away beside the bed, is now a museum. I can barely get into the street for all the buses of Japanese tourists. But you've got to move on. They've named a road in Melbourne 'Dame Edna Place' now, but it's horrible. It used to be a service road called Brown Alley and I said: 'What is it an underpass?' I'd rather have had nothing named after me than this slummy little cul-de-sac.

I must find time to update my autobiography. Unfortunately, Barry Humphries, who I'm not on speaking terms with, is writing an unauthorised biography on me, and I'm sickened by this prospect. He's been quizzing people and he'll twist it all. When it comes out next year there'll be legal action, big time.

I am probably Jewish, because at an early age I could play canasta without being taught.

I realised I was Jewish shortly just before taking my career to America. And before visiting New York I realised I was also partly Italian, too. And as I went south I discovered Mexican blood and native American. Isn't that amazing?I'm a real ethnic cocktail. With an umbrella in it.

If you can't see the humour in yourself, you could be missing the joke of the century.

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